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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26857492">Short Circuit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raddtaire/pseuds/Raddtaire'>Raddtaire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras and Montparnasse are twins, M/M, Mistaken Identity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:48:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26857492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raddtaire/pseuds/Raddtaire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(847): I accidentally had sex with my boyfriend’s twin last night…and he didn’t stop me.</p><p>(1-847): How was it?</p><p>(847): Fantastic, but that’s not the point.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire/Montparnasse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>199</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Short Circuit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Enjolras recognizes that he is not a good person. Kissing his twin brother’s boyfriend would make him not a good person. Grinding against his twin brother’s boyfriend’s leg like a fucking teenager with his tongue down his throat would make him a bad person. Filthily making out with his twin brother’s boyfriend, however, when he’s not quite sure that said boyfriend knows which twin he’s kissing…</p><p>If there is a hierarchy of douchebag behavior, he is at the bottom.</p><p>Technically, a small voice in the back of his mind reminds him, Grantaire isn’t Montparnasse’s boyfriend. True, they’ve been fucking off and on for two months, but the word ‘dating’ has been notably absent. Enjolras has not even been able to figure out whether or not they’re exclusive. Not that he’s had the nerve to ask; asking would mean admitting he has a crush.</p><p>He’s admitting it now though, in little gasps Grantaire pulls out of him and swallows like he’s preparing to eat him alive. He’s simultaneously more turned on than he’s ever been before, and also infuriated at Montparnasse for having the opportunity to kiss Grantaire like this regularly and not taking advantage of it all the time.</p><p>If Enjolras were in Montparnasse’s place, he wouldn’t be socializing with the assholes he invited to their New Apartment Party, he’d be…well, doing exactly what he is now. If Enjolras were in Montparnasse’s place and he had Grantaire, he wouldn’t have thrown a party at all. He’d put on one of the ocean documentaries Grantaire likes, maybe the one about octopuses (Octopi? Octopodes?) that Combeferre had mentioned on the way over. He’d kiss him like this on the couch and blow him while the narrator talked about cephalopod life cycles, and Grantaire would probably pull him off halfway through because there would be time for <em>that</em>after, but right now this octopus was hiding from a tiger shark and he had to know she was going to be okay.</p><p>He is fucked. It’s not even midnight yet.</p><p>The party is still raging just down the hall. Montparnasse and Enjolras have only just moved in. Their parents agreed to cover their safety deposit if they keep living together and move in somewhere slightly closer, something about looking after each other and coming around every so often. Enjolras had agreed only because, aside from the occasional squabble about eating each other’s groceries, he and Montparnasse live fairly functionally together.</p><p>Montparnasse had insisted on throwing a housewarming party though. Now their reasonably sized apartment is packed to the brim with the entirety of the ABC and Montparnasse’s friends, filling every shade of sketchy. One of them (maybe Babet? He can’t tell them apart anymore. They all dyed their hair dark to look like Montparnasse and have been understandably peeved since he went back to his natural blonde after two days) had mistook him for his brother and threw a drunken arm around his shoulders and half a plastic cups’ worth of beer on his shirt. Enjolras wasn’t and still isn’t in the mood for that much inebriation after an entire day moving furniture, and glaring until the other man looked visibly frightened had only made him feel marginally better. Stalking back to his room, he rummaged around and put on a plain white shirt, the first thing he found in the pile of unpacked boxes that wasn’t socks or books.</p><p>The hallway is nearly pitch black when he reemerges: they turned off the lights in the hallway to deter partygoers from straying toward their bedrooms, so Enjolras flinches when the bathroom door opens and the weak pool of light that suddenly surrounds Grantaire shocks his eyes. It’s impossible to tell whether Grantaire is buzzed or drunk in any situation, the man has an inhuman tolerance, but he seems looser with both arms bracketed against the doorway and a look leveled at Enjolras that he can only describe as…hungry. The party at the end of the hall is five people away from turning sentient and Enjolras only cares about Grantaire taking lazy steps toward him, trapping him against the wall with a predatory smirk.</p><p>“You” Grantaire purrs the word into his ear, “look <em>amazing </em>tonight.”</p><p>His lips brush against Enjolras’ ear as he speaks, and then very purposefully trail down his neck. Grantaire presses his lips against his collarbone, soft, not chapped like Enjolras would have – has – imagined, and then slowly, steadily, and progressively more inappropriately makes his way up to his jaw.</p><p>Enjolras can barely breathe. His whole body feels too hot, his skin is burning through his shirt where Grantaire’s hands bracket his sides. As his mind frantically reels for an explanation, it occurs to him that Grantaire does not normally act with this much confidence toward him. Even when he teases him, propositions him lewdly as a joke, winks and saunters and smirks, he always talks and never acts; Grantaire, flirting or not, never touches him. Right now, Grantaire is acting with a certain level of comfort and ease that means he is confident his advances will be well-met, perhaps matched, and that they will be familiar and not unexpected.</p><p>Grantaire thinks he’s Montparnasse.</p><p>Grantaire pushes Enjolras’ back flush against the wall and aligns their bodies against it. His mouth is still working over Enjolras’ neck and steadily using more of his teeth. Is he drunk? He must be drunk, has to be drunk, but he’s not fumbling and losing his balance like he normally does when he stays out late.</p><p>“I’ve been wanting you like this all day.” Grantaire murmurs. “Just like this. Been thinking about fucking you all night. You’d look so pretty on your back, all spread out for me.”</p><p>Enjolras doesn’t know what words are on the tip of his tongue that can tell Grantaire that he has the wrong twin, but they’re trapped there and won’t come out; he feels every bit the scumbag he is right now, but he’s also writhing under Grantaire’s hands. He starts and stutters to a stop once, twice, and then Grantaire is slotting their mouths together.</p><p>Grantaire kisses with simultaneous urgency and leisure; he kisses like they have one more day to live, but like he also has some superior technology with which to pause that day forever so he can keep kissing Enjolras. He is deliberate, and dedicated, and he is taking him apart piece by piece. Grantaire fits a leg between either of his own and then Enjolras is pinned by a pair of hips grinding against him and making heat steadily pool in his stomach. He’s pushing back, touching Grantaire everywhere he can. He sifts his hands through curls, desperate for something to hold onto, rolls Grantaire’s bottom lip between his teeth, and feels more than hears Grantaire growl into his mouth.</p><p>“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. You should see yourself.” Grantaire murmurs, and it brings a little air into Enjolras’ clouded mind.</p><p>“How much have you had to drink?” Enjolras is a bad person: how bad depends on Grantaire’s ability to consent, because some lines can't be crossed. Grantaire just smirks and says, “You sound like your brother.”</p><p>He continues in good faith thought, maybe since Enjolras starts to twist away, “I’ve had three ounces of Maker’s Mark, and not since an hour ago because I might have to drive Jehan home later.” Grantaire pulls back finally, just enough for their foreheads to rest together. “I’m not compromised, and I want this. What about you?”</p><p>Enjolras had opened a beer and left it half empty in the kitchen when it got warm. Fuck it. They’re both of them consenting adults. He can feel the enthusiastic evidence for <em>that</em> against his hip. Maybe Grantaire thinks he's his brother, maybe that's the only reason he's touching him, but, <em>god</em>, it's the only thing Enjolras wants. </p><p>“Were you saying,” Enjolras says slowly “you’ve been <em>thinking </em>about fucking me all night, or have you been thinking about fucking me <em>all night</em>?”</p><p>Grantaire kisses him thoroughly until neither of them has enough air. He slides a hand up to cradle the back of Enjolras’ skull like an anchor, and considers him with dark eyes.</p><p>“You’re bedroom is at the end of the hall, right?” Enjolras watches his throat work over the words, and reflects that he is a <em>bad</em> person, and he can deal with that <em>later</em>. </p><p>*</p><p>Grantaire doesn’t know at first. But he also doesn’t exactly <em>not </em>know.</p><p>For all that he has been in their lives not an overly long while, Grantaire is the only one besides Combeferre who can tell them apart every time and without hesitation. Supposedly, they’re still occasionally able to fool their parents, but Grantaire has a perfect record. So when he corners Enjolras outside the bathroom, it is not so much a case of mistaken identity so much as his brain takes a short cut: blonde impossibly handsome man in a white shirt, Montparnasse was wearing white, probably Montparnasse, ergo, safe to initiate sexual activity. It’s not until he’s following a trail of soft, vulnerable skin somewhere between collarbone and jaw, when the rest of him catches on that Montparnasse doesn’t wear cologne with vetiver.</p><p>It’s not like he can stop and check, not without making things very awkward, <em>especially</em>if it is Montparnasse. Besides, he reasons, if he’s mistaken one for the other, Enjolras will surely stop him. Enjolras is above those who let themselves be pushed and pulled by an itch they’ll never be able to scratch, so Grantaire cannot imagine the other man leaning into his touch and gasping as Grantaire whispers filth into his ear. Sliding his hands over the slim waist in front of him, he brings them together against the wall and feels hands clench around his upper arms. They don’t push him off though. There’s the dull bite of nails through his shirt, and then arms snake over his shoulders. Well.</p><p>Montparnasse probably knows about his large and painful crush on Enjolras, but that’s not something you actually bring up, even to the most casual of fuck-buddies. It’s why Grantaire started fucking Montparnasse semi-regularly in the first place: if the wound in his heart won’t heal, maybe stitches will help.</p><p>Enjolras first introduced Montparnasse when Grantaire had moved back to the city. At the following meeting, Montparnasse had found him alone and told him on no uncertain terms that, while Enjolras wouldn’t notice the way he stared, Montparnasse could offer him the same thing, but better. It was no secret, but it stung to be called out so bluntly. “Define better.” He launched back.</p><p>Montparnasse had taken a full ten second count to look him up and down thoroughly. “I’m not the saint you believe my brother to be.” He said. So Grantaire started fucking the carbon copy of the man he is in love with. It helped until it didn’t.</p><p>While Enjolras could be uncompromising and severe, Grantaire has witnessed, has felt it, often enough to know, Montparnasse could be just as cruel in the opposite way. Where Enjolras is intentional and direct, Montparnasse says small, seemingly casual things, either without noticing or caring about their impact. They stick and sting and Montparnasse will act either confused or amused when Grantaire is hurt.</p><p>Montparnasse was free with his spare key, and even though they’re not together in any sense, Grantaire has been in their apartment often enough to see a softer, domestic Enjolras. It doesn’t bring them together. They argue at meetings half a dozen times a month. But now Grantaire knows what Enjolras looks like in the quiet of his morning coffee. He knows how he cooks eggs with chives and black pepper and how he makes three portions without asking when Grantaire is there. He knows Enjolras laughs at least a dozen different ways, at dry jokes on <em>Last Week Tonight</em>, at videos of kittens, and at pictures from Courfeyrac. He wants to hear all the others.</p><p>It’s different as soon as they start kissing. The man in Grantaire’s arms is letting out little sighs as they become more frantic, more impatient, and he’s touching Grantaire everywhere he can reach. Grantaire feels <em>wanted</em>. That that is a warning sign that this isn’t Montparnasse is a testament to how unhealthy their arrangement has gotten. There are hands going through his hair, pulling just a little, then harder. Then the man is moaning, moaning <em>his name</em>into his mouth and thrusting against his leg. Grantaire lets go of any control he was holding back on, and he slurs between kisses how much he wants him.</p><p>That’s when he’s pushed back, just a little, and Enjolras, Enjolras who will lead the world into a better tomorrow, who scorns anyone who puts bodily pleasure above ideals, Enjolras looks at him with lidded eyes and kiss bitten lips and asks him how much he’s had to drink.</p><p>His tone is so concerned and hesitant that Grantaire can’t feel insulted. He tells him about the bourbon and Jehan, who asked him for a ride in case his seduction of Bahorel doesn’t pan out. His gaze drops from Enjolras’ worried eyes to the lower lip he bites and it occurs to him: Enjolras wants to make sure he isn’t too drunk to consent to sex.</p><p>Grantaire gathers Enjolras in his arms. He wants to do terrible, sinful things to this man and then knead the knots out of the muscles in his neck and help him phone bank for the city’s abortion fund.</p><p>“I’m not compromised,” He says, “And I want this. What about you?”</p><p>Enjolras’ eyes are dark, impossibly dark, and his lips are hot against Grantaire’s ear as he nips at him.</p><p>“Were you saying,” he should be arrested for having a voice that sounds like it does, “you’ve been <em>thinking</em>about fucking me all night, or have you been thinking about fucking me <em>all night</em>?”</p><p>When Grantaire tilts his head to kiss him again, Enjolras surges into him and takes as much as he gives. Grantaire is done for. He never wants to kiss anyone else, maybe never be kissed again after this. They’re both panting when they break away, and Grantaire doesn’t resist the urge to hold him gently where his hair curls against his neck.</p><p>“Your bedroom is at the end of the hall, right?” He asked the same question, word for word not ten hours ago when his arms were straining under the weight of a box labeled, ‘books.’ When Enjolras nods and pulls him down the hall with both hands, Grantaire thanks all the gods he doesn’t believe in. Enjolras is pulling him to his room. Enjolras is kissing him and wanting him and Grantaire doesn’t think he’ll be able to cross the threshold unless he’s explicitly led over it.</p><p>He keeps pulling as Grantaire kicks the door shut behind them, shuffling them closer to the bed he only put together a few hours ago. Enjolras nearly falls back when his legs hit the edge of the bare mattress, but Grantaire reels him back in with firm hands around his hips. Enjolras’ eyes are on him with their characteristic focus when he forces himself to step away and put a gaping space between them. Courfeyrac would call it leaving room for Jesus. Grantaire calls it questioning what will surely be the best thing to ever happen to him.</p><p>“You need to tell me right now how far you want to go.” He says. Give him one more chance to back out, reconsider his life and options.</p><p>“I want you to fuck me. If you want that.” Enjolras says, and pulls him back against him where everything is warm and electric.  </p><p>“<em>If </em>I want that…” Grantaire mutters.</p><p>He pushes him back gently, more of a firm nudge really, and Enjolras falls back onto the mattress. He arches his back to pull his shirt off and turns expectant eyes on Grantaire. Not wanting to disappoint, Grantaire climbs after him to taste as much new skin as he can. Enjolras gasps under him, and there’s a moment where they fumble ineffectively with each other’s belts before Grantaire gives up to stand and strip more efficiently. When he looks up, Enjolras is propped up on his elbows and is watching with something like appreciation.</p><p>“I’m not much to look at.” He hedges, and busies his hands with the buttons on Enjolras’ jeans.</p><p>“Wrong.” Enjolras tone accepts no counterargument. Enjolras’ revealed cock is fully hard, flushed, perfect, and lying over his stomach obscenely. He doesn’t hesitate, just licks a broad stripe up the shaft and takes the head into his mouth. Enjolras’ resulting gasp is pornographic.</p><p>His cock is one meant to be savored, so Grantaire takes his time moving his tongue over it and working it into his mouth in installments. Enjolras responds beautifully with his body trembling and gasping. He puts a tentative hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, then slides it into his hair, grasps a fistful of curls when he is swallowed completely. Grantaire doesn’t rush, just slides up and down as slow as he wants. The second, or maybe third or fourth, time he flicks his tongue over the slit to catch the pre-come beading there, Enjolras whines and pulls frantically at his hair. Grantaire surfaces and scrapes his teeth against the inside of his leg, a rough kiss that makes Enjolras squirm.</p><p>“I’m not going to last like this…” Grantaire takes a moment to congratulate himself on the strain in Enjolras’ voice before pushing him down into the mattress and licking into his mouth.</p><p>“Just for reference,” he says, touching the hand that Enjolras still has locked around his curls “pulling my hair isn’t the best way to make me stop, or, not stop, I’ll stop whenever, but not calm down at least.”</p><p>Enjolras blinks as he processes Grantaire’s words, and then smirks.</p><p>“Who says I want to stop?” Enjolras’ lips brush against his mouth. Then he wraps his hand further in his hair and <em>pulls</em>. Grantaire feels his eyes roll back in his head. He might growl, he’s a little too gone to tell. Some more primitive instinct takes over and he holds Enjolras like he’ll never let go, like he’s <em>his</em>, and sinks his teeth into the joint of his neck and shoulder. The moan from Enjolras’ throat is a sound that makes Grantaire nearly come on the spot.</p><p>Enjolras has not unpacked his sheets, but he knows exactly where his sex supplies are, despite the numerous boxes that are still stacked against one wall, because there’s suddenly a bottle of lube and a condom in his hand.</p><p>He’s always liked this part, and it’s better with Enjolras. Seeing – feeling – him open under him is entirely too hypnotizing. He drags one finger over his entrance before working in slowly, feeling the muscles steadily relax while Enjolras becomes more and more tense with need. When he is moving two fingers slowly in him, like a pulse, Enjolras nips at his ear.</p><p>“I can take more. You don’t have to be careful.”</p><p>“I know.” Grantaire did not know. “I just want this to be good for you.”</p><p>He takes the prompt though and adds a third finger, and Enjolras surges up to kiss him, filthy, and wild. Enjolras, who is spread out underneath him, wanting this, wanting <em>Grantaire</em>, spreads his legs further and draws him in.</p><p>*</p><p>Enjolras doesn’t bring people to his bed often, and he’s never felt as exposed and vulnerable as he does now. Grantaire demands his attention, demands that he give all of himself over to what they are doing. He tenses at the first nudge of his cock against his entrance; Grantaire has prepped him well, both in stretching him open and bringing him nearly to the edge already, but it’s been a long time.</p><p>Part of him wants to close his eyes and turn away from the scrutiny to make the experience less intense. He wants to be present too though, wants to take as much of this as Grantaire is giving. Enjolras knows that everything he feels is written on his face, and for Grantaire to watch it all, himself unable to look away, watching the spectacle of watching; everything is twice as intense when witnessed. The idea hits Enjolras that maybe Grantaire can see everything he’s ever felt and everything he is. It’s terrifying.</p><p>Enjolras knows he is respected, admired, liked, and loved deeply by his best friends who have known him since before puberty, but he cannot really imagine himself being honestly loved by Grantaire. Contrary to popular belief, he is not oblivious to Grantaire’s crush, he’s been aware of it for some time, has even thought about pursuing it, but Grantaire has seen him at his worst, has been subject to him when he was at his most insensitive, has been treated awfully by him. How could Grantaire want to put up with Enjolras having known him like that?</p><p>His mind is flitting back and forth, in and out of the present moment where he’s lifting his hips and Grantaire is kneeling over him, and then Grantaire is pressing into him. He’s pressing into him, and looking at him, and then he dips his head and kisses the side of Enjolras’ knee, and it’s so small and sweet that Enjolras’ mind stutters to a stop.</p><p>When he bottoms out, Grantaire pauses and lowers himself, covers Enjolras’ body with his own until their foreheads rest together and they can kiss while their bodies start to find a rhythm. Enjolras’ body adjusts slowly as he runs his hands over Grantaire’s shoulders and back, and their hips rock together. Then all of a sudden a switch flips in his body and he is adjusted, he is ready, and he wants more.  </p><p>Grantaire knows, he can see the shift in him happen, if not feel it. “What do you need?”</p><p>“More.” Is all Enjolras can say. “Harder.”</p><p>Grantaire drops his head, breathes within the shelter of Enjolras neck, and quickens his pace. So close, Enjolras can’t resist. He bends to taste the skin under his jaw and gives the hair to which Grantaire admitted such weakness a few lazy tugs. Grantaire’s hips stutter out of rhythm and a particularly hard thrust makes Enjolras’ breath catch.</p><p>“Told you to be careful doing that.” Grantaire’s voice is low and rough when he murmurs the words into his hair. Enjolras feels teeth nibble at the shell of his ear, lick down and tug at the lobe.</p><p>“I don’t want careful.” Grantaire is hot and close and inside him and Enjolras wants more of him, all of him. He forgot that sex could make him feel this way, or maybe it’s just sex with Grantaire that makes him feel electric.</p><p>“What do you want?” Grantaire punctuates the question with a nip and snapping his hips a little harder, which is to say, not enough.</p><p>“Told you.” He says. “I want more.”</p><p>“Tell me if it’s – ”</p><p>“I will, come <em>on</em>.”</p><p>Grantaire pauses and lifts himself up to readjust, and then finds a pounding, punishing pace. He bites his lip and watches him, first for signs of discomfort or pain, then, Enjolras suspects, to watch him as he comes apart, because he does. He feels like he has just now come alive. Enjolras’ entire body responds. Each snap of his hips brings them flush together and makes sparks fly behind his eyes. His back arches like a reflex and his thighs begin to shake. The steady, unyielding pace makes pleasure spike through him, produces sounds he can’t control. He feels owned, like fucking him so thoroughly will make him a bought and paid for thing that Grantaire possesses.</p><p>“Better for you?” Grantaire’s voice is soft but his eyes are so, so dark.</p><p>“Please tell me this is half as good for you as it is for me?” His voice comes out high and desperate.</p><p>Grantaire slams into him again and again, and his eyes flutter closed. “It’s good.”</p><p>“Just good?”</p><p>“<em>Really </em>good.”</p><p>“Obviously…not good enough.” Enjolras grinds back down against Grantaire and pulls him by his hair into a kiss. His moan vibrates through him and then Grantaire is getting faster. They’re panting together, moving with increasingly less control, when Grantaire pulls back to look at him. It’s not far, but Enjolras isn’t about to let go, and the hand still in Grantaire’s hair pulls harder than he intended. For half a second he’s worried he’s hurt him when Grantaire’s eyes close.</p><p>He opens his eyes and Grantaire lifts Enjolras’ legs over his shoulders and, holding him bent in half, he fucks Enjolras within an inch of his life. Enjolras would feel embarrassed of the inarticulate cries that escape him if he could feel anything besides Grantaire. There’s a burning core within him like a star exploding or a nuclear reactor melting down. It’s too much and he doesn’t want it to stop. He had no idea sex could be transcending like this. He’s being fucked apart and put back together. He can feel Grantaire’s voice against his throat, but is too far gone to make out what he’s saying. When Grantaire’s hand fits between them and grasps his cock, Enjolras cries out and turns his face into the mattress in case he screams.</p><p>“Don’t hold back on me, don’t you dare.” Grantaire orders, begs, him and starts to move his hand with a purpose.</p><p>“I’m close.” Enjolras gasps.</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>As he jerks him off in earnest, all the nerves in Enjolras’ body coil tight enough to snap. Grantaire is above him, every muscle tensed and his face awash in pleasure. He’s taken completely by his orgasm, and he’s gorgeous. His own orgasm, when it washes over him, wrings him dry.</p><p>*</p><p>When he comes, Enjolras’ name becomes an inarticulate sound halfway that Grantaire presses into the kiss and bite bruised skin of his neck like a prayer. When he catches his breath, his vision might actually have gone out for a second or two, Enjolras is absently running the pads of his fingers over his scalp, though the sting that’s left from Enjolras pulling his hair is more than welcome. Grantaire pulls out as gently as he can.</p><p>“Fuck.” Enjolras breathes. Grantaire wholeheartedly agrees.</p><p>He surveys the moment. Enjolras is a fucked out vision on the bed, hair haloed on the mattress and bruises on his collarbone and hip, reminiscent of St. Sebastian. Grantaire’s body aches deliciously, and he’s torn between dipping his head down to see if he can coax a second orgasm from the man in front of him, or testing his fate to see if he can persuade him to rest against his chest and let him rub his back.</p><p>In light of recent events, he’s feeling lucky. Enjolras’ eyes flutter open when the mattress dips next to him. Grantaire only takes a brief moment to question his actions before Enjolras turns over and settles his head on his chest.</p><p>“Just want to rest a bit.” Enjolras murmurs.</p><p>“You don’t want to go back to the party, do you?”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>, no.”</p><p>“Good.” Grantaire maneuvers one arm around him, and sets to memorizing the feel of Enjolras dosing off against him.</p><p>When Grantaire’s eyes blink open again, it only feels like a few seconds later. The distant sounds of the party have changed distinctly from raging to winding down, which means he must have fallen asleep, though for how long he has no idea. Enjolras has two limbs wrapped around him and is sleeping soundly. Is he supposed to leave or stay? He knows which one he wants, but the thought of Enjolras waking up and no longer wanting him there now that he’s sated seems more probable than Grantaire getting to sleep in with Enjolras. He disentangles himself as carefully as he can and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.</p><p>“So it was the first then.” Enjolras mumbles from behind him.</p><p>Grantaire freezes where he’s been caught.</p><p>“What?” When he twists around, Enjolras’ eyes are open, wide awake, and holding a challenge. It’s a look Grantaire knows well, but never thought he would see on a fucked out, naked Enjolras.</p><p>“The first.” Enjolras says demurely, “You were only <em>thinking</em>about fucking me all night.”</p><p>Grantaire raises a brow archly. Enjolras smirks and turns onto his back to stretch like a cat, and he must know Grantaire can’t help but track the lines of his body moving and flexing.</p><p>“No, it’s okay.” Enjolras says, propping himself up. “It’s okay if you’re too tired to go again, I can take care of-”</p><p>Grantaire tackles him back against the bed, which results in in-bed wrestling. Enjolras pins Grantaire with an unexpected flexibility and a fair amount of underhanded tactics, and then rides Grantaire through a second orgasm. They fall asleep again with Enjolras spooning him, holding Grantaire tight against his chest.</p><p>When he wakes up again there’s light streaming through the windows. They’re sprawled in a slightly different position, but still tangled together. Grantaire disentangles himself from Enjolras and the blanket Enjolras found after the second time that has wrapped around his leg. A short search reveals his jeans were kicked under the bed.</p><p>He’s just turning the knob slowly so the sound of the door closing doesn’t wake Enjolras, when the door to Montparnasse’s bedroom creaks open with no such care. Montparnasse steps out, completely naked apart from a pair of sunglasses and an expression that suggests he’s still very drunk. There’s no way he can disguise the state he’s in or whose bedroom he’s leaving, so Grantaire stands awkwardly with one hand still on the knob. Montparnasse just snorts and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Fucking finally,” and turns and marches toward the kitchen, catching himself on the wall a couple times to stay in a straight line.</p><p>Grantaire is washing his hands when he feels his phone vibrate from his pocket, and that’s when he remembers with a flash of panic and guilt that he had promised Jehan a ride home. Hurriedly unlocking his phone, already drafting apologies, he sees several missed texts from the poet himself.</p><p> </p><p>Jehan (1:15am): Where did you go? One of Montparnasse’s minions is trying to talk to me about poetry. If you don’t get me out of this, I’m going to start cutting off body parts until he goes away.</p><p>Jehan (1:32am): Nevermind! Bahorel chased him off.</p><p>Jehan (2:04am): So, forget about the ride, I’m leaving with Bahorel now. Are you okay, wherever you are? I trust you to take care of yourself, but text me to let me know!</p><p>Jehan (3:47am): If you are dead, you better haunt the shit out of me.</p><p>Grantaire takes several texts to a formulate a reply.</p><p>Grantaire (8:53am): Not dead or endangered, can confirm. I’m sorry for disappearing, I’m gonna buy you so much wine to make up for it.</p><p>Jehan (8:54am): What happened?</p><p>Grantaire (8:54): I had sex with my fuck buddy’s twin last night because I thought he was Montparnasse at first…and he didn’t stop me.</p><p>Jehan (8:55): How was it?</p><p>Grantaire (8:55): Fantastic, but that’s not the point.</p><p> </p><p>When he comes out of the bathroom, Montparnasse is just passing on his way back to his bedroom with an armload of Bloody Marys. From the number of glasses, it looks like someone, or several someones, slept over with him.</p><p>Grantaire eases the bedroom door open again. Enjolras is awake and sitting up in bed. It’s too early for the way he’s frowning, so, Grantaire concludes, whatever it is has to have something to do with him and last night. This might be the part where Enjolras tells him that last night was a one time thing, if he’s letting him down gently, or that he was, in fact, astronomically drunk, and this was a mistake, if he’s not.</p><p>“I…” Enjolras is being careful. “I have to ask you something.”</p><p>Grantaire nods and comes to sit on the edge of the mattress. Close enough, but not too close to Enjolras space. Maybe he needs the space to figure out how to keep going.</p><p>“Do you know who I am?” His voice is soft and steady, as if he’s already prepared himself for the consequences of his question. It’s his hesitancy that unsettles Grantaire, because he’s never seen Enjolras hesitant. They were so close last night. On the same page. Two letters, next to each other, in the same word on the same page. Now there’s paragraphs between them and he doesn’t know how to close the gap. Grantaire takes one of Enjolras’ hands. Maybe that will help.</p><p>“Enjolras…” Grantaire starts without knowing how to continue, much less end, but it has a result. Enjolras’ head snaps up to look at him from where it had turned down to gaze at the blanket. His eyes are sharp and clear, and he lets out what sounds like a sigh of relief.</p><p>“You knew it was me?”</p><p>“Who else would you be?”</p><p>Enjolras doesn’t say anything but Grantaire sees his eyes flick unconsciously toward the door.</p><p>“You thought that I thought you were <em>Montparnasse</em>?”</p><p>“You act differently around him than you do around me.” Enjolras says. “And you were acting like that when you… in the hall last night. I thought that you had mistaken me for him and I didn’t know how to say I thought you were making a mistake, and then I’ve…I’ve like you for so long and I’m an awful person, but then I thought you did know because you knew which room was mine, and then the way you were looking at me and the way you were acting wasn’t like it is around him, and I thought you did know, but then I woke up a second ago and you weren’t here and I thought that maybe I had misinterpreted everything and taken advantage of you and…I panicked.”</p><p>Grantaire’s mind is not quite reeling, but it’s a close thing, particularly since Enjolras has admitted that he apparently…likes him. That’s new. That’s <em>nice</em>.</p><p>“Enjolras, I knew.”</p><p>“You knew?”</p><p>“I admit, I did think you were Montparnasse at first, but only for a moment or two. I knew before I kissed you. I knew it was you for,” he looks around at the bed, at the room, “the whole thing.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you stop me?”</p><p>“Because I didn’t want you to stop. I wanted it, and you said you wanted it too. I’ve never been subtle about how I’ve felt; I’m more than a little gone on you.”</p><p>Grantaire says the last part quietly, and risks looking up at Enjolras. Enjolras’ has turned away from anxious to earnest, and the tension in his brow has vanished. Grantaire’s hand still rests on his, and now he threads their fingers together.</p><p>“I thought last night,” Grantaire proceeds, cautiously hopeful “to ask you this morning, if you’re not planning on more unpacking, at least immediately, if you wanted to go someplace…there’s a diner with half-decent coffee not too far from here.”</p><p>There’s a smile budding at the corner of Enjolras’ mouth. “Can it be a date?”</p><p>“If you want it to be.” Grantaire lifts their joined hands to brush a kiss across Enjolras knuckles, and watches the other man blush. “<em>I’d </em>like it to be.”</p><p>Enjolras smiles, for real this time, wide and full force. “Then you have to help me look for my jeans.” He says, “I don’t remember which box they’re in.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Remember Texts From Last Night? Those were the days.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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